familiar, I 'm the son o' Jim Slagg, senior. Who he was the son of is best known to them as understands the science of jinnylology. But it don't much matter, for we all runs back to Adam an' Eve somehow. They called me after father, of course; but to make a distinction they calls him Jimmy—bein' more respeckfal-like,—and me Jim. It ain't a name much to boast of, but I wouldn't change it with you, young feller, though Robert ain't a bad name neither. It 's pretty well known, you see, an' that 's somethin'. Then, it 's bin bore by great men. Let me think—wasn't there a Robert the Great once?"
"I fear not," said Robin; "he is yet in the womb of Time."
"Ah, well, no matter; but there should have bin a Robert the Great before now. Anyhow, there was Robert the Bruce—he was a king, warn't he, an' a skull-cracker? Then there was Robert Stephenson, the great engineer—he 's livin' yet; an' there was Robert the—the Devil, but I raither fear he must have bin a bad 'un, he must, so we won't count him. Of course, they gave you another name, for short—; ah, Robin! I thought so. Well, that ain't a bad name neither. There was Robin Hood, you know, what draw'd the long-bow a deal better than the worst penny-a-liner as ever mended a quill. An' there was a Robin Goodfellow,
